That night of storm, death, and despair was one that neither Phil nor Serge will ever forget. For long hours they sat by the bedside of the captain, whom they believed to be sleeping, discussing in low tones their melancholy situation.
Suddenly they were startled by a voice from the sick man, who said, feebly, “Get me to Anvik, boys, if you can, and you will save my life.”
It was the first time he had spoken rationally for several days, and they had no idea that he was even conscious of their presence; but Phil answered, promptly, “All right, captain; we’ll get you there, never fear.”
“Yes,” added Serge, cheerily, “you may rest easy, sir, for when Phil uses that tone he means just what he says, and I know that I’ve got to back him up.”
Neither of the lads got more than an hour’s sleep that night, and long before daylight they were again at work. Phil and the surviving millwright were getting up steam, while Serge was taking unusual pains in preparing breakfast, for they all realized that they must now lay in an extra supply of strength.
Not until breakfast was ready was Mr. Sims released from the confinement of his room. After eating his meal in sullen silence he said to Phil, “Well, young man, what do you propose to do to-day?”
“I propose to push on up the river as usual.”
“And who are you going to get to run your engine?”
“I expect you to do it, sir.”
“Well, you are expecting a good deal more than you’ll get,” cried the man, rising from the table in his excitement. “I’ve been bullied by a parcel of boys just as long as I intend to be; so now I want you to understand that I’ll not allow the engine of this boat to make another turn except to run her into winter-quarters, and that’s got to be done in a hurry, too.”